


The Soul of a Survivor

by TheHeartofaStar



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Child Death, Crossover, Eventual Romance, Exhaustion, F/F, F/M, Homecoming, M/M, Morgan has a lot going on, My First Fanfic, Recovery, Sanctuary Hills (Fallout), Science Fiction, Secret Past, Slow To Update, Survivor Guilt, Tags will be updated as the story progresses, The Minutemen (Fallout) - Freeform, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeartofaStar/pseuds/TheHeartofaStar
Summary: It has been a year since the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 awoke from their sleep, and the Commonwealth has undeniably changed. With so much going on in their life, from discovering your kidnaped child runs the organization that kidnapped him, to have said child die in your arms, to maintain an uneasy peace between the strongest factions in the Commonwealth, the Sole Survivor has a lot going on. What's the trouble of having some more things to worry about?





	1. Rains of regret, sunlight of stress

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic ever, so please be kind in any critiques you all may have. Apart from that, I hope you enjoy this!

The rain gently pelted the ground as the sky seemingly opened up, the clouds unleashing their awaited deluge upon the land below, a low roll of thunder sounding throughout the area, a sign that the downpour had only just begun. Accepting the rain gladly, the Commonwealth’s natural life seemingly flourished, given new life and a means to continue on, an odd juxtaposition to the morbid history of both America, and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. While the life that has watched the hills for decades appeared to rejoice, those who have lived far shorter lives receded to their abodes, be it a cave, house, or underneath a partly-toppled, centuries-old overpass. As the rain continued to fall, the sounds that followed only echoed off of the concrete, while the constant impact of rain was continually amplified by the wreckage of an airliner that was thrown from the sky, making its presence known to anyone in the vicinity, specifically the lone figure, face aimed to the sky. Slowly breathing in and out, the figure opened their eyes, green orbs practically begging a simple question, one that has persisted through their mind for as long as they could remember.

“Why?”

The single word reverberated off the constructs of stone and steel, persisting in the air for far longer than anyone would like. Had anyone heard the question, or known the pain and emotion held behind the word, they would beg those around them to try and answer, crying tears of true and absolute sorrow, a sorrow understandable to only those who know it like a friend who shall never leave one’s side, to at least try, try to help someone who has lost and given all they knew for so little in return. Allowing the rain to fall onto their face, the figure stood there, expecting some divine, all-knowing force or being to answer their single question, but was met with a continued silence, the sounds of the world the only answer they would receive. Closing their eyes once more, a tired and almost silent sigh left the person’s lips, before a gentle yet constant beeping caught their attention. Turning their head to see the source, the figure saw a dull red testament to a life they wanted to leave to the dust of time but was a life they depended on all the same. A set of hulking armor that had been as much of a friend in this world as much as the pistols on the person’s hips, or the bulky contraption on their wrist.

Bringing their left wrist to their face, the person switched the screen on, a green glow radiating from the screen. Switching the screens with a dial on the side, the person took notice of the four numbers in the bottom right-hand corner.

18:39, it was already six thirty-nine in the evening.

“Dammit, I’m running behind.”  
Cursing themself, the figure walked towards the set of armor, the gentle beeping growing ever so slightly as the figure approached the armor, running their hand over the red half-dome that surrounded the helmet like a barrier to all that might threaten the wearer’s head, only opening up to reveal the very helmet it is protecting. Gazing into the dark, empty eyes of something the figure knew so well, it seemed as if the suit was averting its gaze from the person in front of it. The armor’s body was slouched in on itself, staring down at its feet and the brown grass beneath it. Placing their hand on the helmet, the red paint slightly flaking off the form due to a lack of upkeep for weeks, if not months. Eyes trailing over the shape of the helmet, from the tube at the right side of the face to the back of the head, and the other tube from right underneath the left eye trailing to the back as well, all of it seeming so normal, with the figure finding slight comfort in the constant image after so much time. Patting the face absentmindedly, the figure took another breath before walking behind the suit.

“Alright buddy, let’s get going, we’re almost home.”

Tapping the fusion core lodged in the back of the suit with their index finger twice, the figure grasped the wheel that the core was lodged into, and with a deep breath, sharply turned the wheel to the left, unlocking the suit. Opening up the way it always has, the figure grabbed the handles on both sides of the torso, and lifted themself into place, securing their feet in their place before grasping the hand controls. Feeling the suit close around them, the pressure on their back was almost comforting, like being held by someone you trust, but missing the warmth that came with it. With the systems coming online as the person was secure in the suit, the reason behind the beeping was revealed. An incoming radio transmission. Accepting the call, the gentle voice of the caller came through clearly, and while the person will never admit it among others, they always relaxed a little when hearing that voice.

“General, where are you? The people at Tenpines Bluff say you haven’t been there yet, and we’re getting a little worried. Shaun is scared that you’re hurt and Chamile is getting a little antsy without you here, over.”

“Sorry Preston, I got a little absorbed in thought and needed some time, but it just flew by without me noticing. I’m almost to Tenpines as it is, so I’m not far. Tell Shaun that I’m okay, and give Chamile something to eat, she’ll get full and fall asleep soon, over.”

“Okay General, how did it go? Everything was taken care of? Over.”

“Yeah, the raiders that were tormenting The Slog won’t be a problem anymore, and I walked out with barely a dent, over.”

 

“That’s great! You really have no idea how much good you’re doing! Over.”

“Yes Preston, I know. I’ll be there in an hour, two at most, I’ll see you then, over.”

“Roger that, General, have a safe rest of the trip. Over and out.”

With the silence taking over again, the person knelt down to pick up the green duffle bag at the foot of the armor, the gears and pistons making a copious amount of noise by the simple movement. Fastening the strap across the chest of the armor, the person looked to the wreckage of the airliner one last time before beginning their trek westward, towards the hills in the near distance, the monotonous and heavy footsteps sounding through the area, only being drowned out by the increasing strength of the rain. 

\---

Halfway across the world in a defunct military base, a small group of people stood in a half circle around a large desk, screens displaying diagrams and photos of different locations, ranging from beautiful mountain tops to gleaming inner cities. The quiet hum of conversation permeating the filtered air, until a set of heavy footsteps announced the arrival of another member of the quaint band. With their collective attentions focusing towards the stairway, one man in the group greeted their newest addition.

“Hey there, Winston, glad ye’ finally joined us.”

“Yes, McCree, sorry I’m late, had to finish up on some adjustments. Anyways, onto the matter at hand.”

Sitting down in a large tire and scooting to desk, the one known as Winston began typing something onto one of the numerous keyboards, the floating screens disappearing while a new one opened, an image of a city filled with age was shown, and Winston rotated the screen so that the others may see the images on screen. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, Winston clears his throat before speaking.

“Alright, our next mission is in Boston, Massachusetts. My sources say that Talon is trying to find something there, but we don’t know what, so we are just going to stop them in their tracks. You all shouldn’t expect too much of a hassle since they are working in a densely populated city, so they have to work discreetly, but so do we. During this, I want there to be as little destruction possible, so try not to destroy a building.”

With the last note, all eyes turned to a hulking man that stood to the left of the desk. Realizing that everyone was looking at him, he held his arms up in defense.

“It is not my fault that buildings get destroyed with me around! Our enemies force me to do such things!”

Swiveling his head to look at his compatriots, the large man could only help but slightly chuckle at his attempt at a defense, rubbing the back of his neck. After a moment, a blonde woman cracked a smile at his antics before responding.

“Yes, Reinhardt, we know, just like how the entire case of beer in the fridge forced you to drink it in a night, der kamerad.”

At that, laughs erupted in the small office, primarily from the large man in question, patting the woman’s back.

“Ah, Angela, you always have kept me in line, even after all these years!”

“Of course, Reinhardt! Someone has to.”

As the laughter died down, Winston coughed into his fist, regaining his composure after the outburst. With everyone returning their attention to the matter at hand, Winston continued on, describing what they would be doing.

“As I said, as little destruction as possible, people still live there and we are already acting illegally. For an actual number, expect there to be twenty men there, average foot soldiers at best. While we might be taking them out, we don’t want to raise any alarms, for Talon or the city, so try your best to be discrete. I’m assigning McCree, Angela, Genji, Lena, Reinhardt, and Hana, so Torbjörn and Brigitte will stay behind, and I’ll be running the op, as usual. Any questions?”

With six of the nine people in the room hearing their names called, they perked up. With the only sound being the low crashing of waves from the outside, Winston nodded his head, before grabbing an unpeeled banana from his desk, beginning to peel it as he continued to speak.

“Okay, have everything in order for departure on Saturday at six hundred hours. You are all dismissed.”

With the meeting over, most of the participants began to exit the cramped room, with the one known as Lena staying behind to speak with Winston. Moving her orange goggles from her forehead to her neck, the short woman ran her right hand through her short chestnut hair, ruffling it up. Sitting down on Winston’s desk, she turned to face him, sitting cross-legged, a broad smile on her face. Turning his attention to Lena, Winston had a smile of his own grow on his face, anticipating their conversation, quickly stuffing his now-peeled banana into his face, but not before noticing the bulky, glowing contraption strapped to her chest, reminding him of how she was almost lost to the flow of time, all those years ago. Quickly dashing those thoughts, Winston returned his gaze to Lena’s face.

“So how have the adjustments been going, love?”

Swallowing quickly, Winston wiped his face of any remains of his snack in respect to his British friend sitting in front of him.

“They are going exceedingly well, it’ll be usable in the field in approximately a week. I still have to work out a few kinks, but the projector should be up and running in no time!”

“Certainly hope so, wouldn’t want you repeating the last, I don’t know, twelve times?”

At that, both of them laughed, remembering the hilarious failures, most of them resulting with a layer of dust covering Winston’s face, and his outline on the nearest wall. Gently taking off his glasses while still chuckling, Winston wiped his glasses, even though they were clean, almost out of habit. Noticing her friend’s mannerism, Lena looked back to Winston, a kind look in her eyes.

“What’s on your mind, love?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t ‘Oh, nothing,’ me, Winston, you always wipe your glasses off when you’re worried about something, and it’s always when your glasses are spotless! So what’s up?”

With a defeated smile, Winston placed his glasses on his desk and rubbed his face with his right hand, both appreciating and regretting how well Lena knew him.

“Fine, you got me. I’m just worried about the op, what Talon is trying to find, what’ll happen if you all get into trouble, and just thing in general. It has been a rough couple of weeks, and I’m just worried about us. We’re acting against the United Nations, for Pete's sake!”

Flinching at Winston’s sudden outburst, Lena was slightly taken aback at her usually composed and collected friend and turned her eyes to the ground. With a heavy sigh, Winston shook his head and looked out the large window behind Lena, whose head lowered in consideration to what her close friend had just said. Watching the Gibraltar sun casting warm light across the orange stones and old constructs, Winston closed his eyes for a few seconds before taking another deep breath, getting Lena’s attention.

“I’m sorry, Lena, I shouldn’t have yelled. I know I’m not the only one stressed out, so that was unfair.”

Turning his head to look at one of his dearest friends, Winston gave her a warm smile.

“Don’t worry about me, I already have Athena for that.”

“I heard that, Winston.”

Chuckling a little at the sudden appearance, Winston looked to one of the screens on his desk, the logo of the aforementioned “Athena” slowly turning on the dark screen.

“Sorry Athena, you know I mean that in the best of ways.”

Returning his focus to Lena, Winston noticed her shaking her head with a gentle smile on her face.

“I still can’t believe you gave that A.I. so much personality.”

“What can I say? It gets lonely when you live alone in an abandoned military outpost and have nothing to do.”

“I know, I know, just giving you grief, love. Anyways, I gotta split, I promised to call Emily when the meeting was done, so I’ll talk to you later.”

Hopping off of Winston’s desk, Lena walked towards the right of the desk and out the open door and saw Winston’s room-workshop combination, with mechanical factory arms lying in wait to be used to a tire hanging from the ceiling, being suspended by rope, Winston’s custom suit for someone of his… stature. Walking down the flight of stairs into the workshop, Lena looked up to the shattered second window that looked down into the workshop. With a sigh of her own, she began to walk out of the workshop through closest exit, the stone surrounding her for a moment before she reached the exit, and the warm sunlight landed on her face. Breathing in the fresh Spanish air, Lena put her hands in the pockets of her bomber jacket and started her walk to her room, excited to talk to her girlfriend.

\---  
A few minutes earlier, when everyone was leaving the meeting, Hana Song waited by the exit of the office for the person she wanted to talk to. Just as Angela was exiting, Hana walked up to her side.

“Hey Doctor Zeigler, what do you think Talon is looking for?”

Turning her head to look at the most recent addition to the new Overwatch, Angela gave her a kind smile and tilted her head up in thought.

“I honestly can’t say, they could be trying to get their hands on anything really. Knowing them, Talon probably thinks it’ll give them some kind of advantage against others, so there is no telling. What do you think?”

“Hmm, I dunno, maybe some kind of badass super soldier that was frozen in time! Nah, that's just stupid, nevermind.”

Angela happily chuckled at Hana’s bizarre idea, and turned her attention to the exit, enjoying Hana’s company. Realizing something, Angela returned her gaze to Hana, the kind smile still on her face.

“Hana, I do remember telling you to call me Angela, not doctor Zeigler.”

“Sorry Doct- sorry, Angela, it’s just a little hard to kick those kinds of habits after being so used to them.”

“It’s quite okay, Hana, I understand.”

With the two of them now in the sunlight and headed towards the barracks, their conversation continued on comfortably, enjoying each other's company. However, Angela had a sudden look of realization on her face and quickly turned to her friend.

“Oh Hana, I’m sorry but I have to cut this conversation short, I forgot something in the medbay and I need to get it, so I’ll see you later!”

“Okay Angela, see you later.”

Angela was gone before Hana could finish her sentence, and was let alone. She thought about hanging out with Brigette, but thought against it, as she remembers Torbjörn, her father, asking her to help him in their workshop. While she liked the Lindholms, she wouldn’t want to get caught up in one of their arguments about proper wrench usage, so she raked her mind for anyone else. Thinking about hanging out with Lena for a bit, Hana realized that she was most likely talking with Winston at the moment, and decided it would be best if she didn’t interfere, so she continued to her room after a small sigh. Thinking about Winston, Hana gave a small laugh at the thought of her commanding officer, and the leader of the new Overwatch, being an honest-to-god, legitimate, talking gorilla from the moon.

“Well, guess I can finally cross meeting a gorilla off my bucket list. Took long enough.”

Walking in silence the rest of the way, she saw Jesse McCree and Genji Shimada, who were having an argument on who had cooking duty for that night.

“I’m tellin’ ya’, it ain’t me tonight! I was Tuesday, Angela was yesterday, and yer’ today! Thursday!”

“And I am telling you, that you are wrong! I cook on Sundays, and it is once a week! Also, I don’t see why I have to cook when I can’t eat! Or have you forgotten the fact that I am a cyborg?”

“Christ’s sake, Genji, it’s called doin’ yer’ part, so do yer’ damn part! This week, you were the name drawn fer’ Thursday dinner because we all agreed on that rule, so even if ye’ already cooked, you have te’ again!”

Just as McCree’s triad ended, Hana passed the two, and Genji noticed her walking by, and decided to bring her into their conversation.

“Hey Hana, real quick, is it, or is it not, my turn to cook tonight?”

Turning to the men at the use of her name, she thought for a moment before looking at the ridiculous duo, with one being an actual cowboy, spurs and all, and the other being a robotic ninja.

“McCree’s right, Genji, it’s the middle of the week, and your name was drawn on Monday, so you better get to the kitchens now if you want dinner to be ready in-”

Quickly pulling out her phone to look at the time, she noticed a message from one of her friends across the world, but returned her attention to the cyborg, shoving her phone into her pink jacket pocket.

“An hour and eleven minutes.”

“What?! That can’t be right! What time is it?”

“It’s six thirty nine.”

“Ha! Told ya’ Genji, now get going, or you’ll have Reinhardt to answer ta’!”

With a quick curse in Japanese, the ninja quickly ran off to the kitchens, eagre to not incur the wrath of the titan, knowing first hand what that would entail. Chuckling as his friend sped off, McCree turned to Hana, pulling out a cigar with his robotic left hand and searching for his lighter with the organic right hand.

“Thanks, kid, I didn’ want to get out the calendar fer proof, so we all owe ye’ one. I just hope he’s as quick a chef as he is an exfiltrator. Anyways, catch ye’ around, Hana.”

“No problem, Jesse.”

As the both of them walked opposite directions, Hana suddenly turned back to face the cowboy, his red poncho still visible down the hallway.

“And don’t call me kid! I’m twenty-one, god damn it!”

Raising his hand in acknowledgment, McCree made his way outside. When he was out of view Hana shook her head in annoyance, her long brown hair waving from side to side. Finally making it to her room, she punched in her code and when inside, flopped onto her bed and pulled out her phone again, opening the message. After reading it, she pressed the message bar and began typing out her own message.

“Hey Lú, how was the concert?”


	2. A Place Called Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out! I promise that in the next two chapters things finally start moving along, plot-wise. Thank you all for being patient! Chapter 3 will be out before Friday!

The rain persisted throughout the trek back to the person’s home, the sky gradually getting darker and darker as the sun set behind the clouds. Focusing on the next step and the one after that, the figure focusing on the silence, apart from the gentle pitter-patter of the rain, the lights coming from the eyes of the armor casting shadows on the ground, guiding the one inside. With the lack of irregular sound, anything apart from the rain and their own footfalls, the person gave a small sigh of relief, thankful that there wasn’t some ballsy raider lusting for caps or glory, or a gunner hit-squad wanting to dispatch their biggest threat. For no matter how many times they leave the safety of their veritable fortress, the person has always been afraid of what cannot be predicted, fearful and wary of what might be hiding around the corner or behind a tree. Even now, in a safer wasteland, and one of the safer areas, there is the looming knowledge that something is always following you-

At the sudden snap of a branch from behind, the person pivoted on their right foot and reached into the duffle bag on their back, pulling out a combat shotgun. Being modified to its pinnacle, and adorning a tiny marking on the left side, of a small blast and dust cloud around it, a telltale sign of what is in store for those unlucky enough to be at the end of the sights, there is little anyone could do to preserve themselves from the incoming onslaught. Squeezing the trigger as if their life depended on it, a hail of buckshot spewed from the barrel, the empty shells falling to the ground much like the rain around them. As each steel pellet, all holding the same destructive power as a hand grenade struck something, an explosion erupted from it, throwing dirt and pieces of wood and stone everywhere. As the thirty-second shell plummeted to the ground, a click came from the chamber of the shotgun, signifying that the drum was empty. Hyperventilating as they continued to hold the shotgun, the person’s eyes rapidly darted from one spot to another, looking for who, or what attracted their attention. 

Noticing nothing, the person brought their right hand to their armored chest, taking deep breaths in and long breaths out, calming themself, survival instincts and adrenaline leaving their system, gaining more cognitive control of their actions. With one final deep inhale, the person brought the duffle bag to their front, placing the shotgun back inside of it, moving some supplies that moved due to the sudden interference, and after zipping the bag up, they placed it back on their back. Turning back to the havoc caused by their own hands, it appeared that there were no remnants of any living thing, not a drop of blood or scrap of cloth, nothing, just the continual downpour. Shaking their head at how paranoid they were being, the figure prepared to continue on, but not before yelling into the nothingness around them. 

“I know you’re there! So stop following me, or show yourself! Either way, you’ll live a lot longer!”  
Receiving no response from whatever had been following, the person gave a heavy huff, not noticing the other being about thirty meters back. 

Lifting their fedora-clad head from the ground, the new figure watched as the suit of armor stomped along, making sure that they wouldn’t notice their presence. Pushing themself off the ground, their tan trenchcoat and fedora helping them blend with the foliage, they brushed themself off, and removed their hat, running a scarred hand through their black, slicked-back hair, and down their equally-scarred face, stopping below their nose to stroke their well-maintained mustache, shaking his head side to side, but remained silent. Cursing himself for causing any kind of sound, the scarred man placed his fedora back on his head, and reached to his hip, pulling a silver magnum from a black holster. Flicking the chamber out with ease, the man checked how many shots he had left. Six. Six unique bullets left, all reserved for the one in armor, walking away from him, unaware of his presence. He’d kept them alive for this long, and will continue to do so until the right moment. Holstering his magnum, the man readjusted his fedora, brushed some more detritus off, tightened his tie, and continued on, tailing his final target. He had followed four others, all across the ruins of America, all without them knowing his name, or ever knowing why he did so. He was as mysterious to those he followed, as he was a stranger, and he preferred it this way.

\---

Stepping onto the wood planks of the bridge they knew so well, the person looked up to the home they had built with their own two hands. A metal gate standing in their way, imposing to all those who would threaten it, but welcoming to those who missed its safety. On the left and right side of the opposite side, two sentries stood, their vigilant eyes watching for anything that might harm their home, armed to the teeth with weaponry most could only dream of holding, and sturdy green armor protecting them from harm. Sprouting off the gate, concrete walls surrounded the entirety of Sanctuary, only opening for access to the river that ran under the aged bridge. Looking to the opening, they saw the multiple industrial-grade water purifiers whirring away, creating one of the Minutemen's main sources of income: freshwater. With all of the improvements that the Commonwealth have enjoyed, a stable source of clean water has been one yet to be fully enjoyed. However, it allowed the Minutemen, specifically the general, to swoop in and create a monopoly on water production and sale. It was almost laughable, how one of the last survivors of the previous age became what had destroyed the world in the first place. However, the main difference between the general and the capitalists of old is that the general actually has a heart, and understands the plight of those without water, something a capitalist could never understand. Looking up at the right-hand corner of the HUD for their power armor, the general checked the time. It read 19:57, so seven fifty-seven, a bit over an hour, so their prediction to Preston wasn’t far off. Looking up at the sky, the general noticed that a constant wasn’t there anymore.

“It stopped raining.” 

With something that they had become accustomed to gone, the general felt a pang of sadness in their stomach, missing the gentle sounds of rainfall, the smell of the grass, the presence of something that isn’t always there, and they felt a kind of longing for it, like the life they didn’t have anymore, or the people. Catching themself before they could go any further, they shook those thoughts and feelings from their head. Continuing across the bridge, only stopping when the sentries stopped them, and as they removed their helmet, the general shook their white hair from their face, showing the sentries that it is was them, not someone who stole their prized armor. As the sentries realized who was at the gate, they scrambled to open it, earning a small chuckle from their general. Securing the helmet in their arm, the general returned their attention to the gate as it finally opened, the two sentries saluting their general, who returned a small, two-fingered salute, with a small ‘at ease’. There were two audible sighs as the general passed them, causing the general to lightly smile as the sentries went back to their jobs. 

Hearing the gate close behind them, the general took a long look at their home. The single street finally having streetlights along it, illuminating the area.

“Hm, Sturges must’ve finished while I was out.”

Musing to themself, the general began their walk down the street, looking into the houses they help reestablish and repair, at least, those that could be repaired, but that didn’t stop them. The once empty block of concrete by the entrance was now a pen for brahmins and other kinds of animals. The standing houses becoming places for families or groups that decided to live together, enjoying their company, with sounds of life coming from those they passed, a staunch difference to how it was a year prior. As they progressed, people took notice of the heavy footsteps and went to their windows or doors to welcome their general home, be it with a voiced greeting or a small gesture, they recognized them as their leader and respected them as such. Looking at the faces of those they protect, the general saw something rarer than a day without danger: happiness and hope. Their faces may be dirty from harvesting vegetation, their hands may be sore from maintaining machinery, and their eyes may be heavy from a long day’s work, but they are… happy, something the general thought could never exist in this new world. Realizing that they were starring, the general returned their emerald eyes to the front and continued walking, passing the second new construct. A kind of barracks, built of concrete and wood, a place comfortable enough for those who could not find space in the empty houses, with a common area on the first floor, the beds on the second, and sets of mortar placements on the roof, ready to unleash a devastating barrage upon whatever their general chose. Passing it with a lingering glance, the general passed the workshop, Mama Murphy’s green chair empty from its owner.

“Where could she have run off to?”

Just as they thought this, Jun Long walked out of the yellow house, a dirty, white t-shirt sticking to his chest, evidence of a good day of work. Reading down a clipboard and writing something at certain spots on the page, Jun looked up to see the general standing there, staring at Mama Murphy’s empty chair.

“Oh, General! Welcome back.”

“Hello, Jun. You wouldn’t happen to know where Murphy went off to, would you?”

“Sorry, no. Last I saw her was around dinner time, and nothing seemed off, so maybe she’s just visiting with someone?”

“Probably.”

Looking at Jun, the general noticed that the smile he wore wasn’t forced, not like the ones they know, but the smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes. He knew that he didn’t have to work too hard, still recovering from the death of his child and all, but he still did so anyway, like he was trying to distract himself from something. Walking up to him, the general placed their right, armor covered hand on Jun’s right shoulder and gave him a kind look.

“How are you doing, Jun? I know that Quincy was about a year ago and that you are still healing from losing your son, I know I am. You know that you don’t have to work as hard as you do.”

Dropping his smile, Jun looked to the ground and let out a shaky sigh, his facade discovered. Wiping his eyes with the back of his left hand, Jun looked back up, to the person who has supported him for this long. 

“I-I’m doing better, but it still hurts so much, like there is a hole in my heart. It feels like it is slowly closing, but sometimes it just opens back up, and it feels like it grows a little bigger every time… However, Marcy and I have been talking a lot about it, and both of us are finally starting to… accept that it happened, even after all this time, so we’re on the right path.”

Nodding their head along with everything Jun said, the general patted his shoulder when he finished, looking into his eyes understandingly. Internally, they were recoiling hard, their own similar wound growing just as much as Jun.

“I’m happy to hear that the two of you are doing better, even if it is just a little. I’ve known a lot of people in the same position as you two, myself included, and I know that it is harder than anything else to recover from that kind of trauma, trust me, I do. I keep telling you two to take as much time as you need, and I’m serious about that. If you need a day, take a day, I and everyone else will understand.”

Looking back up to them, Jun had a legitimate smile on his face, a rare oddity, but a graciously accepted one. Wiping his face again, Jun perked up and slowly nodded his head.

“Thank you, General. Thank you so, so much, for everything… none of us would be here without you, and we’ll always be grateful!”

Hearing the ‘without you’, the general felt another pang in their stomach, something inside of them twisting at those two words, almost trying to wrap its metaphorical head around it. Their gentle smile fading, the general looked to the concrete below them, their concentration fading for a moment, with Jun noticing.

General.

General?

“General? Are you okay?”

Realizing that they are being spoken to, the general shook their head back to then-and-there. 

“Yes, Jun, I’m alright. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me there, I think I’m just tired. Long day and all.”

They lied. Yes, they were tired, so unendingly, undeniably tired, but not just from the day, but from the entire reality they have had to adapt to. The carnage, the violence, the almost infinite bloodshed on a single day, all of it making the general so sick of not only the world but of themself too. The way so few truly cared about others like they did, how even fewer try to fix anything. How so many burdens have fallen upon them, the general, who was thrust into their position on their first day in the new world. 

“But you don’t have to worry about that.”

Ending their lie with an unnoticeably forced smile, the general resumed their walk after waving a goodbye to Jun until he turned back to them.

“Oh, general! I’ve almost completed the harvest reports for today, do you want to see them?”

“Not yet, I’d prefer to see them when you’re done. Just give it to Preston when you see him, and I’ll get it.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for Mama Murphy, too!”

Giving a thumbs-up as they walked away, the general passed another original construct. Having a barracks on the other side of the yellow house, they had decided to make a kind of shopping center, having built a two-story building out of concrete. On the bottom floor, there are a multitude of general stores, from a hospital, clothing emporium, and restaurant, anything a traveler could want. On the second floor, past a secured metal door, the more serious shops stand, with the weapon and armor emporiums standing tall as two important stops for anyone, should they be heading out into the wasteland. As they rounded the corner, the general looked around the cul-de-sac and the two original structures. The blue house to the right was transformed into an armory of sorts, holding onto any weaponry and armor the general found in their travels, ranging from pistols to rifles, to miniguns and nuclear launchers, in case of an attack. While average weaponry is out for anyone to use to defend their home, the Fat Men are secured deeper inside of the house, behind a heavily-locked door that only the general knew the code to. Having fortified the entire house, to get in requires a code as well, known only to a select few in the settlement, the general included, again. Looking to the left of the centuries-old tree, a large barn stood, the metal garage-like door closed tight. Having so little space to hold the materials produced in Sanctuary, it was basically a necessity to build a barn, not as much for animals, but for the containment and security of the food grown there.

Taking another step forward, to the very end of the cul-de-sac, the person heard a clear rustling from the hedges that surrounded the last building. Diverting their attention to the vegetation, the general could swear they saw something rummaging around, hidden in shadows cast by the last building. Before they could investigate, a large form quickly burst from its hiding spot, and rushed the general, clawed arms outstretched, horned head leaned forwards, eyes fixated on the general, their prey, with a loud roar sounding throughout the area, diverting all attention to the most feared apex predators of the wasteland: a deathclaw. 

Wrapping its great arms around the general, the deathclaw lifted them into the air, almost crushing them in its mighty grasp, hugging them the best way it could. Happily laughing at the gestures, the general wiggled their arms out of the deathclaw's grasp, and brought their arms around its neck, nuzzling the great beast like one would a dog. Giving it a kiss on its scally snout, earning a lick on the face with its forked tongue, like a mammal.

“Okay, Chamile, that’s enough! Put me down!”

Getting out their kind command through their laughter, Chamile set them down, allowing her master’s hands to run across her scaled face, their hands catching on the pink bow tied around her neck, with added military-grade elastic to make sure it wouldn’t snap. Bending down on her front like a dog submitting to an alpha, the general gave another laugh at her antics, rubbing the spot between her horns affectionately.

“You’re so silly! Have you been a good girl while I’ve been gone? I think you have, my little chameleon! Did uncle Preston feed you like I said?”

At the mention of what her name stemmed from, her scales adapted to the surrounding environment, now out of the shadows. Being right in front of a lamppost, her front grew yellow, her left arm changing to a light blue, and her legs turned to a gray. Looking to Chamile’s right arm, the general looked at the contraption of metal and plastic, forming a makeshift prosthetic hand for her scale-covered friend. Having taken inspiration from the pre-war landfill claws, the general, Currie, Sturges, and a few scientists from the Institute were eager to see if the prosthetic would work. If it works okay for a human, how hard could it be to make one for a deathclaw, right? Realizing that her master’s attention had shifted to her relatively new hand, Chamile raised it, and with what appeared to be an immense amount effort, made the three claw-like fingers move, earning a big smile from her master. 

“You’re doing so well! I’m so proud of you! Okay, it’s getting late, go lay down!”

With a sound emanating from her throat, Chamile gave one last peck with her tongue before making a full 180 and shambling into her little nest, built in the shadow of, and underneath, the general’s personal house. Turning their attention to their abode, the general gave a tired smile, happy to truly be home. The three-story construct of concrete stood as both a beacon to the downtrodden and a sign of strength to those who would attack it. The first two stories were built on the original foundation of the previous house, but the third story was essentially detached, being supported by original concrete pillars. Walking up to their door, the general punched in the six letter code that had been inscribed on their heart well before the war. The name of their wife, who died in the very vault that was meant to save them.   
Composing themself, trying not to cry, the general punched in the last letter, opening the metallic door. Upon opening the door, the general heard a set of footsteps quickly descending the stairs in the middle of the room, in front of the door. A child, no older than twelve, the cause of the footsteps, short white hair being pushed back as he ran. 

“Mom, you’re finally home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a kudos, and if you are so inclined, a comment! All comments and critiques are considered and appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm late! Holy fuck I'm bad at this thing!

“Shaun!”  
  
Running into the general head-on, Shaun wrapped his arms around his mother’s armor-clad waist, squeezing as hard as his young arms could, which wasn’t much. Nevertheless, the general kneeled down to get on the same level as her son and wrapped him in a strong hug, making sure not to hurt him as she breathed in his scent, happy she was finally home.

“Welcome home, mum! I hope you had a successful outing!”  
  
Noticing Codsworth float over to the duo from the kitchen area, the general gave her robotic companion a smile, his faux British accent always making her chuckle, even before the war.

“Yes, I say it was rather successful. Thank you, Codsworth, and please make some food for us, I’m famished.”  
  
“At once, ma'am! It’ll be ready before you know it!”

Watching her friend float back to the kitchen area and begin cooking, the sounds that accompanied filled the air, the bubbling of water, the flame of the stove clicking on, and the oven heating up with a constant whirr. The general looked back to Shaun. Pulling away from the hug, the general held her darling son’s face, kissing his forehead affectionately, before picking him up and holding him on her arm as if he weighed nothing, which he practically did, given that she was still in her power armor.

“I’m sorry I worried you, being away for the entire day and not checking in on schedule. I promise that tomorrow, it's just going to be me and you!”  
  
“I understand, mom. You’re doing important work! Just try and not waste time you don’t really have, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Setting him back down, the general took Shaun’s hand and led him up the wooden stairs to their quarters on the second floor. Looking around their shared room, the general smiled at how everything was the same, as it had been in the morning. In front of the stairs, facing the river, was a covered balcony of sorts, her desk, and chair seemingly calling to her, to sit and rest.

Not until later, she thought.

On the desk are a myriad of things, from folders to holotapes, a hand-crafted audio recorder to the left-hand side, pristine desk fan spinning away, a bottle of some rare whiskey and glass to the right-hand side, with a typewriter sitting in the middle of the desk, waiting to be used. Next to the desk was a terminal, connecting all of Sanctuary’s defenses, water purifiers, lights, and whatnot to the trio of fusion generators that lay beneath her balcony. While it might seem vain to keep the one thing that distributes all the power in Sanctuary in her private estate, it is a means of protecting it from those who might interfere or endanger her home. Next to the terminal sits a large, actually functioning ice container, containing all sorts of food and drink, specifically Nuka cola, most from her time at Nuka World, specifically the odder concoctions. On the other side of the room lay Shaun’s bed, a fresh mattress, and sheets on top of a pristine metal frame, only the best for the child of the general of the Minutemen. Next to his bed are lines and lines of comic books, all sitting on their designated shelves, all in alphabetical order, all begging to be read. Stopping her eyes on all four copies of Islander’s Almanac, the general cracked a small smile.

_Oh, how long it took to find those_ , she thought to herself again.

Beside the magazine shelves, a blue bobblehead stand stood, filled with every available bobblehead, all spots filled.

_And that took even longer!_ She thought once more.

Sitting next to the bobblehead stand were two green chests, filled to the brim with weapons the general had found, all with odd effects to them, be it a flamer that froze its victims, or a sniper rifle that healed those shot by it. The chest on the right held a multitude of armors, from leather to combat grade, while the chest on the left held all the weapons. Resting diagonally from the chests filled with legendary equipment sat the general’s own bed, a pristine double bed with fine blue sheets, soft pillows, all on a polished wood frame, an ancient relic from the past. At the foot of her bed was another green chest, but with a small decal of a golden crown, holding those weapons legendary enough to be known by name, The Gainer, December’s Child, _Le Fusil Terribles_ , all under her possession and care. For those weapons that wouldn’t fit in the chest, they rest of display racks, their glory for all to see, much like the Experimental MIRV, or Ashmaker. Besides her bed sat a bureau filled with the clothing and armor that kept her alive as much as her weapons. Realizing that she was still inside of her power armor, the general gave Shaun’s hand a quick squeeze.

“Okay sweetie, I’m gonna head upstairs and get out of this. When I’m done, let’s sit down and have some late dinner, okay?”  
  
“Okay, mama! I’ll wait downstairs for you.”

Giving him a warm smile, the general placed her duffle bag on her bed and walked to the set of stairs on the left side of the room, besides Shaun’s bed. Opening the door to the roof, the general made her way up, turning her head to the right as she reached the top. Walking to the door of the partially-attached third-story, the general walked up to the electrical lock, bringing her right hand up to the buttons, recalling the code. Punching in the eight letter code, the memories came back to her as they always do.

_F-R-E-E-B-I-R-D._

Taking in a shaky breath of her due to he code’s meaning, the general diverted her attention back to the door as it slid open. Stepping inside of the veritable bunker, the lights switching on as the general stepped in, illuminating the collection before her. Gazing around the room, her most prized possessions all lined up against the walls, hooked up to their stations, just waiting for someone to step inside. Suits of power armor, the finest that could be made. Walking to the very end of the room to the one open space, the general turned herself so that the armor she was in hooked up to the station correctly, the yellow metal clicking into place as it secured on the armor. Activating the exiting process, the general slipped out of the armor as it gave a pressurized hiss, the servos finally resting after hours of use. Walking to the front of the suit, the general placed the helmet back into its place, locking it to the suit, making sure it wouldn’t fall off.

Stretching her arms above her head, the general bent to the left and right, her back muscles contracting beneath her tight piloting suit, joints popping comically loud. Walking out of the room, the general took one last look around at her collection. To the left stood regular suits, ranging from Raider suits to T-60s, while the suits to the right all had unique parts, like the Tesla T-60, while the suits to the far back were completely unique. On the far left and right sides were the Vim T-51 models all the way from Far Harbor, while the Nuka T-51 model stood to the left, and the Quantum X-01 stood to the right, with the final suit being the X-01 model the general had just been inside of, standing as a pinnacle of what could be done with the right knowhow, and a box of tools.

On any other day, the general would spend hours on end gazing at the suits of armor, but she couldn’t stomach to look at them that day, the grim reminders of who she was in the past and what she did too loud at the moment, and she just needed to get away. Exiting the room, the door automatically closed as she passed it, locking again, waiting for the next time it is needed. Walking down the stairs, the general shook her head again, trying to put on a happy face for Shaun. Catching herself in the mirror that stood next to her bed, the general looked herself over, and was quick to unzip the tight suit. Removing her arms and letting the top part fall around her hips, the general placed a hand on her chest, the small lumps of flesh covered by a bland undershirt over a basic sports bra, another rare find.

_While I can’t complain about their size, I can’t help but think that these should be a little bigger. They’ve had two years to develop, after all, but I guess two centuries on ice messes your body up. But still, that stuff was in my system before the vault. Eh, whatever._

Looking at her face, the general placed both her hands on her cheeks, running her fingers over her sharp jawline, freckles covering her darker-tan face, still noticeable even against her darker complexion.

“Can’t believe my face is still so angular, even after the reconstruction…”

Her emerald eyes finally met in the reflection, her skin making her eyes stand out like a lanterns in the dark. Touching her face just below her left eye, she pressed at the lighter skin, a stark contrast to the rest of her body.

_I always forget what it’s called when this occurs… Viti-something. Whatever, doesn’t matter now._

Running her fingers across the scar just above her left eye, starting at the brow and traveling upwards and right a few inches to her hair, the result of a piece of shrapnel. With her hands meeting her hairline, she ran her hands through her bleached hair, a result of trauma from long ago, feeling how long it had gotten in the past year.

_Still can’t believe it turned white. I know I’m old, but I don’t want to show it._

Letting her hair fall to her shoulders, the general grabbed a hair tie from the beauro besides her bed, tying back her hair in a messy ponytail. Shimmying out of the rest of her piloting suit, the general looked to her midsection, the body of a soldier was all she could see. Scars older than most people littered her back, arms, and legs, but not a single one on her belly, a lucky occurence for her, even for her downright awful luck. Placing her hand on her abs, their definition remaining after so many years of not being used, and then a year of constant use. They seem… softer, as if her body is finally adapting to the doses of estrogen that were injected into her over two centuries ago. Finally, her eyes reached her boxer shorts, containing one of the last remnants of who she was in the past. Looking back up to her face again, she took a deep breath, staring at her own soul behind her eyes.

“How are you, Morgan?”  
  
Her question bounced off the concrete walls, the answer held by the one who asked the question. Deciding that she had wasted enough time, Morgan opened her drawer and pulled out a dark grey shirt and a pair of jeans, slipping both on with practiced ease. Folding and placing the piloting suit on her bed, Morgan turned around and walked down the stairs, back into the first level of her home. Looking to her right, she saw Shaun sitting at the table eagerly waiting for his mother to join him. Giving a small smile to her special boy, she walked over to the table, already set, with a pot of coffee on the heating plate, and a couple of clean mugs at the base. Sitting down at the head of the long table in her plush chair, Morgan heaved a tired sigh and slumped into her chair, happy to finally rest. Adjusting herself to eat, she looked at the plate that Codsworth had arranged. A rack of yao-guai roast with a spicy tato sauce, a few pieces of toast made from razorgrain, and a bowl of vegetable soup. Turning her head to her metallic friend, Morgan thanked Codsworth for the food.

“Of course, mum! It is my solemn duty, and programming, to keep you and yours fed! If I didn’t, it would be an insult to the Mister Handy name! I wouldn't ever dream of it!”

Chuckling at his dramatics, Morgan felt a snout press at her leg from under the table, a sign that another one of her friends had shown up. Bending down to see, even though she knew who it was, Morgan was greeted with numerous licks to the face from a particularly excited canine, happy yelping coming from the dog.

“Okay, okay, Dogmeat, that’s enough! I missed you too, buddy.”  
  
Getting the german shepherd to finally calm down, Morgan gently stroked her hand over his head as he sat beside her, expecting some food to drop out of the sky. Picking up the knife and fork to her right, Morgan placed the cloth napkin in her lap, preparing to eat. Taking a bite of the roast, Morgan was surprised by the taste and began to dig in, savoring the food as much as she inhaled it.

\---

After the meal, Morgan chatted with Shuan about his day, wondering what he had gotten up to in her absence.

“So after I did the laundry, I helped Curie at the clinic for a while until she had to leave for The Castle. With some spare time, I made some more progress on the gift I’ve been making for you!”  
  
“And what would that gift be, my ray?”

“I can’t tell you! That would ruin the surprise!”  
  
Chuckling at his response, Morgan patted Shaun’s head, earning an annoyed grumble from her child, as she always did whenever she did so. Staring at his adorable face as he continued to talk, Morgan’s thoughts began to wander.

_I still can’t believe how much he looks like me. Those guys at the Institute really know how to make someone look convincingly real. Then again, I was told that this is what Shaun looked like at such a young age, so they had an actual model to go off of._

With her thoughts going to the original Shaun, Morgan’s small smile slowly faded as she recounted her last moment with her biological son.

\---

The white tiling of the Institute, the smell of antiseptic and clean sheets in the air at all times, the gentle sound of water from outside of the suite, all of it causing Morgan more pain. Even with so much technology, so much knowledge, so much potential, it couldn’t save a single man. Morgan sat beside her son’s deathbed, his breathing slow and even, his physical appearance accurately showing his age, his tan skin only visible where his heavy and well maintained facial hair allowed. The bed in which he lay measuring his vitals, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the silence, and it was all too much for Morgan’s heart. She had turned the entire Commonwealth upside down looking for her baby, and now here she was, at his deathbed, as the leader of the very organization that originally took him over sixty years ago, as the infant Morgan thought he was. Leaning in her chair over to her child, Morgan began to cry, tears streaming down her face without her realizing. Wrapping her arms carefully around his shoulders, she rested her chin on the top of his head, his white hair similar to her own, but caused by age, not trauma. As she held her child, Morgan began to sing the small lullaby that she used to sing to him as an infant, for the short time she could before the bombs fell.

_‘How do I say I love you in a way you’d understand?’_

_‘Is it with the gentle shifting of the sands?’_

_‘Is it how I hold your tiny hands?’_

_‘Or is it the way I help you stand?’_

_‘No matter how, just know, that I love you-’_

At that moment, the beeping stopped, the room being filled with the constant buzzing of a flatline. Realizing what that horrible noise meant after a moment, she placed her forehead on the top of Shaun’s, realizing she was crying full-force, and not doing anything to stop it. She wasn’t even able to complete the simplest of things, from save her baby, to sing him a lullaby. In between her harsh sobs and hyperventilating, Morgan managed to get out the end of the song.

_‘I love you, my little man.’_

She let everything come crashing out at that point. No more restricting herself, no more bottling up what she had felt for the past few months. Just letting it all out with screams of agony and pain, a pain that only a mother who lost could know.

_\---_

Her attention returning to the present, Morgan saw Shaun’s worried face, and at that moment she realized that she was crying. Wiping her eyes with her arm, she looked back to Shaun.

“Are you okay, mom? Was it something I said?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah I’m okay, little man, I just remembered something sad, and no, it isn’t your fault, so you don’t have to worry about it.”  
  
“Okay…”

At that, there was a moment of silence, Morgan composing herself before giving Shaun a smile.

“Alright, sweetie, I’m tired so I’m going to make my audio report and call it a night. You can go visit around if you want, just be back before ten thirty, okay?”  
  
Looking to the clock above the stove, Morgan read the time carefully, as her eyes still felt puffy. He had about an hour to do so. Feeling that his mother needed some time alone, Shaun nodded his head as he got up from his seat.

“Okay mom, I’ll be back before then. Do you need anything else?”  
  
“Not really, but a hug would be appreciated.”  
  
Hearing that, Shaun came up to Morgan and gave her a tight hug, greatly worried about his mother. Inhaling his scent one last time, Morgan gave him another squeeze before releasing him from her arms, only now realizing that Dogmeat’s head was on her lap, looking up at her worriedly as well. Petting his head some more, Morgan gave Shaun a quick kiss on the cheek before he left. Sitting for a few more moments, Morgan finally pushed herself out of her chair, and dragged herself up the stairs, only to drop herself in her desk chair. Resting for a few moments, Morgan sat up in the plush chair and reached over the desk to grab the audio recorder, noticing how it was empty. Looking over the desk for a few moments, Morgan spotted a holotape, and without it having any markings or writing, she placed the blank tape into the recorder. Realizing that something was still missing, Morgan began to wrap her brain to figure out what it could be.

“Okay, I have the recorder, the blank holotape, and… oh, can’t forget that.”

Remembering the missing piece, Morgan rose from her chair to the green duffle bag, and opened it completely. Removing her shotgun, a spare set of armor, and drum magazines for said shotgun, Morgan found what she was looking for. Pulling out a leather-bound journal, Morgan returned to her desk, undoing the latch on the journal and picking up a pencil, and proceeded to press one of the recorder’s with a _chunk!_ , the recorder beginning its duty. Placing it in front of her, Morgan took a deep breath and began to speak, writing down everything she was saying.

“This is Morgan Alex, General of the Minutemen. It is the third of October, twenty-two eighty-eight, and I just returned from clearing out another gang of raiders plaguing The Slog. They were inhabiting Dunwich Borers, and like the last time, there wasn’t much of a fight… but no hallucinations this time.”

Stopping short at the memory of the Borers, Morgan felt a large chill run down her spine, shaking her to the core. The things she saw there still haunted her: the way the raiders were driven to insanity, the hallucinations of centuries prior, and the face at the bottom of the atomic well. It was all too much, and while Morgan may never know the whole story, she was happy about this fact.

“Oh, crap, I lost my train of thought, where was I...”

Flipping the pages back to the current entry, Morgan picked up the pencil again, resuming her chronicling.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. For the past month, I’ve been having… weird dreams. I can’t remember most of them, but I get a feeling that they aren’t ordinary. I can only remember one dream, and it was just a door. It looked old, the wood around it rotten and the metal rusted, but before the dream ends, the door opens, and the other side is nothing but light, and I can hear a bird singing in the light, but I can’t walk through the door. I’m use to odd dreams, always have had them, but this is another kind of odd, though I don’t know why.”

Looking to her right, Morgan notices a new folder on her desk. Flipping the folder open with her right hand, Morgan read through the detailed report, writing it all down while repeating a shortened version at the same time.

“Moving on, it looks like the Glowing Sea is finally dissipating after two centuries. This will allow the Minutemen to expand further into the area, and grant us safer exploration of the mostly unexplored region. With this, some new structures have been discovered, and a new cave entrance has been reported, but remains unexplored at the moment.”

Closing the folder and gently tossing it to the pile of other folders, Morgan returned her attention to her journal.

“While this is good for us, I worry about how the Children of Atom will respond. While The Nucleus isn’t hostile, thanks to DiMA, the mainland sect might convince them to do something… drastic. God, I don’t want to imagine that right now. Moving on, today was mostly uneventful, save for a moment on my journey back to Sanctuary.”  
  
Looking up from her journal into nothingness, Morgan tried to find the right words to express what she was feeling, the silence filling the air for a lengthy moment. Placing her pencil on the middle of her journal, Morgan rubbed her face, heaving yet another sigh.

“I feel like someone is watching me… always. There is never a moment where I do not feel a set of eyes on me, even when I am completely alone, it seems like someone is watching me from the shadows, or from a distance, like I’m being followed. I haven’t told anyone, not Preston, not Codsworth, not even Shaun. Apart from the unknown set of eyes, I have everyone else watching me. This may seem like hyperbole, but I promise, it is not. Those who have been in, and will be in my position will know this feeling, but not to this extent, and not at this magnitude. In total, there are thirty settlements under my care, and almost five hundred people looking to me for guidance, ever watching, ever judging. I cannot convey the burden that I carry everyday, how the exhaustion only gets worse with each passing day, even with so many burdens lifted from my shoulders. Some days, I wonder if I could just… disappear. Leave my title to Preston and have a humble life as a farmer… but I can’t do that. Not to Preston, not to Shaun, and not to those who are gone, or those who come tomorrow. But I’m still tired, in every sense of the word, and I don’t know what to do. No matter what I do, be it walk into the wasteland without a plan or remain at my post, or some other third course of action, I just don’t know what can be done. I’m not a religious person, but I’m worried about my soul, where-ever it may end up.”  
  
Looking out to the water purifiers standing tall, and even past to the ruins of Boston, Morgan took in a deep breath and returned her attention to her journal in front of her. Lifting the pages to the front cover, Morgan gently ran her right index and middle finger down the face of an ancient photo, age tangible with even the lightest of touches, looking as if it may crumble to dust at a moment’s notice. Three people stood in the photo, two sitting in chairs while the third stood, her left hand on the chair of the person to the right side, white hair held back in an elegant french braid, a gentle smile on her face, clad in a dark suit sans a tie, the top two buttons undone. Looking down to the person in the chair, Morgan heaved a shaky breath, her face as beautiful as ever, long dark hair held back by a hairband, warm brown eyes full of love, wearing a beautiful white dress with a white rose frill on the left shoulder strap, with a white rose above her right ear.

Turning her attention to the man on the left side of the photo, he looked like the personification of dapper. He wore a suit similar to Morgan’s but with a black bowtie to match, with a matching white rose on his left lapel. His dark hair was slicked back and cut short, and his mustache had been trimmed with mechanical precision. On his left hand was a golden band, same as the other woman, same as Morgan. Picking the photo with the utmost care, Morgan turned it around, reading the writing like she had done so many times.

_November third, 2076. The marriage between-_

The old words had faded long ago, giving the people in the photos little identity apart from their faces. Placing the photo back into the journal, Morgan realized that the recorder was still on, and she was wasting the space left on the tape.  
  
Before she could do anything else, a frantic knocking at her door caught her attention. Turning the recorder off, Morgan rushed down the steps and flipped the switch next to the door, opening to reveal Preston and Mama Murphy, both out of breath, panting heavily.

“Preston? Murphy? What’s wrong? The perimeter sensors haven’t gone off, and I don’t hear gunshots, so what happened?”  
  
Looking up at Morgan, Murphy had a horrified look in her eyes, her usually clear eyes bloodshot, clear signs of heavy chem usage.

  
“Murphy, I thought you had quit the-”

“Kid, that isn’t important... I saw something big.”

\---

The tapping of buttons and clacking of joysticks filled the dark room, the glow from a trio of monitors the only light in the space. The sounds from the controller grew quicker and more desperate, Hana concentrating fully on the events on-screen. The monitor on her right displayed a constant stream of encouraging messages and a number, fluctuating up and down, but staying around 150,000 viewers. The monitor on her left having been put on low power mode, D.Va’s bunny icon rotating every few seconds. The center monitor showed an intense game, the seconds ticking down faster and faster until the timer read zero, the word VICTORY plastered across the screen. Throwing her arms up in triumph, Hana gave a cheer at the victory, the chat going wild at the victory.

“I told you guys I could do it! With an inverted controller too! When I said I could, you better not doubt me!”  
  
Speaking into her microphone on her headset, Hana gave a relieved sigh at her win. Picking up a bottle of soda she left next to her chair, Hana cracked open the top and quickly downed the contents in a matter of seconds.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for tonight. Remember to sub and donate to the D.Va relief fund for those impacted by the recent hurricane in China! Both can be done below, and I’ll see you guys next time, at the same time! Love you guys, D.Va out!”  
  
Giving her trademark smile and peace sign, Hana turned off the camera and ended the stream and turned off her monitors. Double checking that it was done, she gave a nod to herself and let out a tired sigh.

“Okay Hana, it was just a few hours, you’re used to it.”

Pushing her chair back from her set up, Hana rolled herself to the other side of the room and opened a panel next to her door. Twisting the leftmost knob to the right a few inches, the lights turning on, giving a gentle yellow light. Pulling her phone out of her sweatpants pocket, Hana checked the time, eyes widening at how late it had gotten without her noticing. Returning her attention to the room settings, she pressed a few buttons, lowering the temperature, and rolled over to her bed. Crawling under the pink covers, Hana gently kicked her chair back towards her desk and returns her attention back to her phone, scrolling through her news feed until she received a text.

_“Great stream tonight! Just so you know, I have two more concerts left before I have free time to ‘make my next album’, so I’ll he headed in your direction in two weeks! Hang in there, Hana, you’ll be seeing this frog in no time!”_

Ending his text with a frog emoji, Hana smiled at Lúcio’s compliment and at the fact that she’ll be seeing her friend soon. Sitting up on her elbows, Hana directed her attention to the ceiling.

“Hey, Athena?”

A chime sounded, and Athena’s logo appeared on Hana’s monitors.

“Yes, Agent Song?”

“Can you inform Winston that Lúcio will join us within the month?”  
  
“Of course, and would you like to set an alarm for tomorrow?”  
  
“Yeah, 5 am please.”  
  
“Of course, Agent Song, alarm set.”

At that, Athena’s logo disappeared from the monitor, and the lights turned off with her departure, which Hana chuckled at.

“Okay, I get the hint, Athena, I’ll go to bed now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly am sorry


	4. Gears Start Turning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm late! Holy fuck I'm bad at this thing!

“Woah Woah, slow down, you two, I can’t understand a thing, go back to the start. Preston?”

 

Fanning himself with his hat, Preston looked to Morgan.

  
“I was wondering where Mama Murphy went all day, so I checked up at the vault a few minutes ago, only to find her tripping up there. It looked like she was having a bad trip, so I shook her to wake her up, and she started panicking. I thought she was going to attack me, but she just started running down the hill, and I followed. So, I’m just as lost as you are, general.   
  
Recognizing that it was her time to talk, Murphy nodded her head slowly. Taking a deep breath, a shaken look still remained on Murphy’s face, looking into nothingness as she stared at the full coffee mug in her hands.

 

“Okay. I relapsed, and I relapsed big, so I took a bunch of shit. I know you convinced me to stop, and this betrayed your trust in me, but I couldn’t resist. I started small, I swear, just a huff of Jet, but I saw something. It wasn’t like the usual sight, maybe because it’s been a couple of months since I used it, but this was detailed. I saw a map with a red circle on a part of the lower left section, someplace new, in the glowing sea is my best guess. I also saw a research facility, older than most, and abandoned longer. Finally, I saw an empty birdcage. The last thing scared me the most, but I have no idea why. At that point, the vision was fading, but I had a sinking feeling that this vision was more important than any other, so I took a bit of everything I had. I can’t remember anything from that trip, but I think it’s best if I don’t. If Preston here hadn’t woken me up, I might have overdosed. Kid, I know you can’t trust me right now, but I need you to trust the sight, for your, if not all of our sakes. It hasn’t been wrong yet, and I’d bet all I have that it was for you.”   
  
Having listened intently to Murphy, Morgan’s eyes were wide open. Placing her chin in between her right index finger and thumb, she began to shift through the slew of new information. Preston gazed at Murphy with a disappointed and confused look and turned towards Morgan, who was now standing up and circling the table.

 

“General, you really can’t bel-”   
  
“Quiet, Preston, I’m thinking.”   
  
Having been cut short, Preston followed his order, contemplating Murphy's statement.

 

“Mama Murphy, if you saw a map of the Commonwealth, would you be able to pinpoint the place you saw?”   
  
Both looking at Morgan, Murphy nodded her head with certainty, while Preston shook his head in disagreement.

 

“C’mon general, you’ll only validate her chem use, it isn’t worth it.”   
  
“Preston, I’m sorry but no. In any other situation, you’d be right, but the inclusion of the birdcage struck something within me. You don’t know the relationship I have with something like that, from my past life.”   
  
“General, what are you talking about?”   
  
Looking into his eyes, Morgan closed her own slowly, taking a deep breath.

 

“Preston, Murphy, I’m entrusting you with something important to me that hasn’t been said in over two hundred years.”   
  


“What, General?”

 

“My name. The name that was given to me by one of the four most important people in my life. Please, never repeat it, not even to me.”   
  
Opening her eyes, Morgan stared at Preston with an intensity that would make even the strongest of people shrink in fear.

 

“Freebird. The name that my best friend gave me the first time I confided in him. You know me as Morgan Alex, but my original name is Freebird, as it replaced my dead name. I made Morgan my own name after becoming Freebird, but Alex wasn’t mine to begin with. It was his, so I took it so he may continue living on. He was the one to set me free from who I was.”

 

At that, the memories of her past life came back in full force. The first day of military training, the grueling drills and the unending propaganda. Meeting her squad for the first time after being assigned as the team medic, or team mom in any other case. Meeting Alex, his curly brown hair, warm oakwood brown eyes, the kindest smile imaginable, and a welcoming shoulder for all to lean on. He was a natural born leader, and an invaluable friend to boot. The memories of him still fresh in her mind, even after so long. The first time she patched him up after he was a bit  _ too _ reckless, the day she told the five others, some of the most important people in the world to her, about who she really was, and the first time Alex called her the name of his own creation.

 

_ “Well, it’s like you are finally free, right? And you’re like a mother hen to us, and since you haven’t thought of a proper name, so why not, Freebird?” _

 

Then came the bad memories. The first major squad fight between the six squadmates, losing Jose to what was considered an accident, Gene refusing to kill a protester and being court-martialed, Mika getting hit by a stray bullet and not being able to help her, and hearing about Antonio’s death after he was moved to the front lines, even though he was supposed to be retired. After twenty years in the U.S. military, it was just her and Alex, the one person she invited to her wedding, the one who gave her the tattoos that climbed her back, the one who supported her when she first started her difficult transition, and the one who is kept alive to this very day, memorialized through her existence, through her holding his name as her own.

 

Looking up, she watched the thought process on Preston’s face, Morgan seeing as the realization finally dawned upon him.

 

“So, the birdcage, and you being Freebird…”   
  
“I knew it was important to you, kid, but we still don’t understand the rest. Now show me that map you’ve got.”

 

Running the back of her hand over her eyes once more, Morgan brought her Pip-boy up to her eyes and brought up the map screen. Showing the screen to Murphy, she allowed her to try and figure out where she is looking. After a few minutes, Murphy stopped short eyes widening.

 

“That’s the spot, kid. That is the exact place I saw.”   
  
Bringing the Pip-boy up to her eyes, Morgan checked the coordinates quickly, and her eyes widened. Turning around and running up the stairs, Morgan grabbed the newest file off of her desk, flipping through the information.

 

“General, what is it?”

 

“Where is it, where is- there! I recognized the coordinates because I had read them earlier. They point to the entrance to a new cavern that we haven’t seen yet, but it has to be important.”

 

Placing the file on the table, Morgan tossed the papers to Preston, who began to read them the moment picked them up. Looking back up to his commanding officer, Preston could recognize the all-too-familiar look in Morgan’s eyes.

 

“General, wait! You can’t just leave right now, I forgot to tell you that you received messages from Maxson, Desdemona, AND the Institute’s council. They all want to debate over some rules in the treaty, and I know you’ve been going off on these missions to ignore your responsibility, but you can’t do it forever!”

 

“Then tell them I’m not here. This is taking precedent and I won’t be able to focus on anything else when this-”   
  
She gestures to the information on the table.

 

“Is out there waiting to be discovered! This isn’t about being the first one to find it, it’s about figuring this out before anything can happen. If the Institute or god forbid the Brotherhood find out about whatever this is, it could either be destroyed or manipulated, no matter what it is.”   
  
Staring back at Preston, Morgan could tell he was distraught. While he knew that she was right in saying that the two factions would jump at the chance to become stronger than the other, he didn’t feel right letting his commanding officer shirk her duties. It reminded him too much of the last leader of the Minutemen before it all fell apart. He looked down to the table, closing his eyes and minutely shaking his head side to side.

 

“Fine, General. Just don’t forget to check in this time.”

 

Noticing the dissatisfaction in Preston’s voice, Morgan walked over to him, placing her left hand on his shoulder. Turning him so they are face to face, Morgan places her right hand on his other shoulder.

 

“Preston, I’m sorry. I promise to get this done as quickly as possible, and the moment I’m back, I’ll talk with all of them and figure out the best solution. I just have to have peace of mind with this. I swear that the moment I’m out of there, I’ll radio you to let you know I’m headed back.”   
  
Taking in Morgan’s promise, Preston gave a small smile and chuckle before patting Morgan’s right hand.

 

“I really can’t refuse you, can I? Hell, even if you weren’t my C.O., I’d still always say yes. Okay, I’ll tell the rabble that you were redirected southwards and won’t be home in a while. On that, how long will it take for you to get there and back?”

 

Picking up the dossier, Morgan skimmed over the data.

 

“About ten hours to get there, then back, plus exploring, so it’ll be about a full day. Shit, I promised Shaun I’d spend the day with him, and I really don’t want to make his sad.”   
  
“It’s okay, mom.”   
  
Suddenly turning to the door, Morgan only now realized that Shaun had been listening in on their conversation. Walking over to her son, Morgan crouched down to his level and put her left hand on his cheek.

 

“I’m really sorry, sweetie. You probably heard that part about my past, didn’t you?”   
  
“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry for eavesdropping, I won’t do it again.”   
  
“It’s okay in this situation, but you really shouldn’t make a habit out of it. I guess I’m just more oblivious than I thought, eh? Anyways, thank you for understanding, my ray.”   
  
Kissing his forehead, Morgan stood up straight, cracking her knuckles as she went through a mental list of what she would bring. Stopping short before walking up the stairs, Morgan looked to Preston once more.

 

“Preston, you're in command like always, I’ll contact you when I get there too.”   
  
“Wait, you’re leaving now? You just got back!”   
  
“I agree, kid, you need to rest, it isn’t good for ya’.”

 

“I’ll rest when I’m back. I’ve been active for longer, so this isn’t a problem.”   
  
Walking upstairs, Morgan grabbed her duffle bag off the ground and tossed it on her bed. Grabbing the explosive shotgun she recently used, she realized that one gun might not be enough when going in blind. Turning to the chest with the crown detail, Morgan shifted through the weapons, pulling out Problem Solver, she readied her rifle by slamming in a drum magazine, and screwing on the suppressor, with a decal of two bullets entering a silhouette torso and head. Next, she pulled out Limitless Potential, moving the automatic barrel back and forth to check for any kinks, the gun displaying a simple infinity symbol on the end of the stock. Additionally, Morgan pulled out a second handcannon, spinning the barrel of the .44 magnum after running her fingers over the bull barrel, looking down the reflex sight to make sure it was clear, she ran her thumb over the other infinity symbol on the grip.

 

_ I’m still unclear on how I never have to reload these things. _

 

Counting up what she has displayed next to the bag, along with the Deliverer already strapped to her hip, a thought dawned upon her. Walking over to the desk, Morgan crouched down to look under it, and saw that the knife was still there. Gripping the handle with her right index finger and thumb, she pulled out Throatslicer out of its hiding place. Weighing it in her palm for a few seconds, she slid the blade out of its sheath and started to spin the cutlass in her fingers, running her thumb over the blood droplet decal on the blade. Resheathing the blade, Morgan placed it on the bed as well. Shimmying out of her jeans and shirt, Morgan pulled on her grey piloting suit, a modified Vault 111 suit fit for proper power armor usage, still displaying the three ones on the back, but had no other vault symbols. After checking her five other weapons and confirming that they work, Morgan walked to the upper level once more, punched in the code, and strode up to her main suit of armor. Giving a small sigh, she pressed her hand to the top of the helmet, looking into its eyes once more.

 

“Sorry buddy, but it’s back in the saddle again, but we’re used to it, aren’t we?”

 

Walking behind the suit of red X-01 armor, Morgan jerked the valve, opening the armor once more. Cracking her knuckles in preparation, Morgan placed her right fist on her jaw and pushed, her neck popping loudly, and did the same on the other side of her jaw. Situating herself, she readjusted to moving while inside of the suit, shaking out her arms and legs while walking to the door. Closing the door behind her, Morgan returned to the lower level and began repacking her duffle bag.

 

_ Okay, I have Stimpacks, Radaway and Rad-X, keychain, enough food for three days, grenades, flares, Assault Marine Armor, spare clothes, enough ammo to overturn the Commonwealth, and the journ- _

 

Realizing the journal was still on her desk, Morgan gently closed her journal and clicked the lock into place. Returning to the bag, Morgan finished her packing and placed the larger weapons in it as well. Picking up Throatslicer, she unfurled the straps wrapped around the sheath and wrapped it around the upper arm of her left arm, magnets in the ends attaching to the armor. Picking up Deliverer in her right hand and Infinity Obtained in her left, Morgan placed them both in holsters on each leg. Going through her mental list one last time, Morgan nodded her head in confirmation and easily heaved the duffle bag up her shoulder, she tightened the straps around her torso. Walking down the wooden stairs once more, each one creaking from the weight, Morgan noticed that Dogmeat was waiting at the door, tongue hanging out and tail wagging in excitement. Patting his head, Morgan softly shook her head. 

 

“Sorry boy, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt because of my lack of foresight.”   
  
Just as she started walking out the door, Dogmeat barked at her and stood on his all fours, starting to follow her.

 

“Dogmeat, stay!”   
  
Everyone in the room recoiled from the outburst, specifically the dog who started slightly whining, his ears folded back in fear. Realizing what she did, Morgan placed her hand on her armored face, angry at herself for yelling at her friend. Kneeling down to his level, Morgan removed her helmet and began to run her hand over Dogmeat’s coat.

 

“I’m sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just really worried about all this and care about you all.”   
  
Looking up to the Preston, Murphy, and Shaun, Morgan could see their hesitation and awkward feelings.

 

“If anything happened to any of you, either when you are with me, or because I wasn’t there, I would never be able to forgive myself. I’m sorry, again.”   
  
Returning her attention to Dogmeat, she placed her forehead on the dog’s head. Closing her eyes for a moment, with Dogmeat doing the same in content.

 

“You’re a very good boy, and I love you all so much.”

 

Grabbing her helmet, Morgan stood up once more and rubbed Dogmeat’s head. Situating and securing the helmet on her noggin, Morgan gave a hand sign of acknowledgment to the three others in the room.

 

“I’ll be back before you know it, I promise on this survivor’s soul.”

 

\---

 

“...ke up…”

 

Shifting in her bed, Hana paid no attention to the voice.

 

“...ong, please wake up…”   
  
Hearing the voice a little bit more now, Hana continued to disregard it.

“Agent Song, please wake up so you do not run behind.”

 

Grumbling at the voice, Hana placed one of her pillows on her head, muffling any sound that may disturb her, and promptly falling back to sleep. Heaving a virtual sigh, Athena realized that if D.va was to wake up on time, she would have to do it now, and without mercy. Accessing the volume controls for Hana’s room, Athena mused to herself for a moment.

 

_ What should I use this time? Reinhardt’s Friday Hasselhoff Synth Mix, Genji’s Pina Colada Party Theme? Oh, Mccree's Sunday Hangover Song is a perfect choice. _

 

Even though Athena has no face, if one was listening, they could notice the hint of a smirk in her voice. Playing the song, a country sounding voice began to sing, and for the first few minutes was at the lowest volume. At fifteen seconds, just as a violin was starting to play, Athena ramped the volume to maximum, making Hana jump from her bed at the deafening sound of a man screaming the name Cotton Eye Joe. Screaming awake, Hana pulled her hidden Bunny Blaster out from below her bed, aiming wildly at whatever scared her, only to realize that it was Athena playing a horrible song.

 

“Glad to see that you’re awake, Agent Song.”   
  
“What the fuck, Athena! You know I was up late, and this is how you wake me?!”   
  
“Whose fault is that, Agent Song?”   
  
About to retort, Hana realized that both were he fault, and shook her head.

 

“They’re my fault, Athena, thank you. What time is it, anyway?”

 

“You’re welcome, Agent Song. It is currently four in the morning like you requested to be woken up at. Breakfast is currently being served in the mess hall, Agents Brigitte and Reinhardt have made eggs, toast, and sausage, with choices between coffee and tea. Breakfast will end at five-thirty, so you have the options of eating now or later. I do recommend doing one last inspection of your arsenal, just for safety’s sake.”   
  
“Okay Athena, thank you again. I’m going to take a shower first, but I’ll be ready in a bit.”   
  
“Understood, Agent Song, but don’t take too long, we are all on a tight schedule today.”

 

With that, Athena left the room to attend to whatever other duties she had. Placing her gun back underneath her bed, Hana stretched her arms above her head for a few seconds. Turning towards her dresser, Hana pulled out a fresh piloting suit, a pink tank top and some clean undergarments. Walking towards her bathroom, Hana began to go through her checklist for the morning.

  
“Okay: shower, morning routine, eat, then pre-mission maintenance, let’s win this day.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly am sorry


	5. Through the Threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! School is finally finished, and I wanted this chapter to be as good as possible, so thank you all for waiting! I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is always appreciated!

The radioactive gust made Morgan’s Geiger counter beep lightly, the sun gently breaking over the mountains, golden light bathing the desolate land in warmth. Morgan’s internal clock dinged, the internal voice notifying her that it was six A.M.

 

_Making good time, wonder what’s different this time._

 

Thinking to herself, she cracked her knuckles absent-mindedly, paying attention to each step she takes. Stopping short, Morgan brought her hands back to her sides, paying attention to her surroundings. A soft movement of rocks to her right, the ground shifting slightly in a living pattern, an almost silent chittering, and the smell of rotten, radioactive meat.

 

_Radscorpion. Big one too. It’s been following for a bit, most likely a stalker, maybe a predator variant._

 

Pulling off and sliding the duffle bag down her left arm, Morgan placed it on the ground next to her, flexing her fingers in anticipation, running through her knowledge of radscorpions and their hunting habits.

 

_They circle for twenty seconds before striking, six frontward facing eyes, two claws, and a stinger. Go for the joints._

 

With less than a beat passing, the ground around Morgan exploded in dust, blocking her view of her surroundings. Without use for her sight, Morgan closed her eyes, focusing on everything around her, feeling a sharp change in the air. A voice she has heard too often yelling at her.

 

_LEFT._

 

Pivoting on her left foot, Morgan stomped her right foot in front of the other and threw her right fist forwards. Colliding with a solid material, she forced the beast to the ground, shattering the face plates with the combined impacts of both her fist and the ground, a shrill keen emanating from the unfortunate beast. Anticipating a strike from the stinger, Morgan clutched the tail with her left hand and forced it back, stopping it before it made contact. Grasping the handle of Throatslicer with her right, Morgan swiftly swung to the right, severing the top half of the tail with no resistance, gaining more sounds of grueling pain. Releasing the stub end of the tail, she slammed her fists into the pincers, mutilating the joints, and with the radscorpion staggered, Morgan slammed her cutlass into the shattered head plate, pieces of the carapace splintering off as blood gushed from the intrusion, splattering Morgan’s visor. Even with her blade embedded in the monster’s skull, it writhed with a worrying vigor as the smaller pincers tried to defend itself to no avail. To make sure the beast is dead, Morgan placed all of her weight on her hands, driving the blade completely through its skull, brain and bottom part of the head, protruding out like a thorn as the spasms coming to an end, and the appendages falling still.

 

Retrieving the blade from the radscorpion, Morgan flicked the blood off the blade with a sharp flick of her wrist, sheathing it back on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she was met with a mess of dark blood, and after wiping it off, Morgan finally saw her would-be hunter in all of its glory. Being met with a white skull-like pattern, now shattered with the carapace, she gave a sound of slight disbelief.

 

_Didn’t expect it to be a deathskull. These are rare, even for the glowing sea._

 

Standing up, Morgan patted her hands together in completion, surveying the surrounding area for any other threats.

 

_The predators must be getting more desperate with the sea dissipating… or overconfident. More food to hunt, complacency follows suit._

 

Placing her bag back on her back, Morgan cracked her neck, relishing the satisfying pops that followed. Checking her map HUD, she noticed how the cave was supposedly only a few more kilometers away.

 

_Almost there, just a bit longer. Probably was this thing’s nest too. Well, better keep moving._

 

\---

 

Patting her stomach in content, Hana let out a heavy sigh of content, Mccree chuckling at her action, returning to his coffee in his hand.

 

“Me too, ‘ana, me too. You can’t not love that man’s cooking.”

  
  
“Tell me about it, crazy how it’s better than most restaurants!”

  
  
“Yup, man’s got more experience there than any of us ever will, ‘cept for Ana, she could put him to shame in his own field.”

 

Not instantly recognizing that name, Hana cocked her head to the side, leaning on her elbows while facing Mccree.

 

“Who’s Ana? His girlfriend or something?”

 

Hearing the question, Jesse gave a kind huff-like laugh as he scratched his head underneath his hat.

 

“Knew ya’ would catch that. Ana was the old Overwatch’s number two, THE ‘Captain Amari’. And if anythin’, ol’ Reinhardt was HER boyfriend. The two had known each other since they were kids, and were both part of the O.G. strike team.”  


Receiving an ‘ohhhh’ of realization from Hana, Mccree chuckled again, getting a far-off look in his eyes as he continued speaking, more to himself at that point.

 

“She was also like a mother t’me. Was one of th’ ones that set me on the right path ‘fter Deadlock.”

 

“Who were the other ones?”

 

Realizing that Hana was still listening to him, Mccree gave one last chuckle, finished his coffee and stood up.

 

“That’s fer’ another time, little lady, we’d better get rollin’. Put this away fer’ me, wouldja?”

 

“Yeah sure, and don’t call me that, Mccree! You know I hate it!”

 

“Course, course, I won’t, don’t worry, I’m not tryn’ to offend.”

 

As he walked to the door, Hana picked up her empty plate and dirty utensils, as well as Jesse’s mug with his face on it. She then walked to the dish receptacle and placed them on the conveyor, with the objects disappearing under an overhang. Walking to the door, she was zipping up her pink sports jacket when she heard the musical tone signifying that Athena was going to make an announcement.

 

_‘Bing BING Ding Dong’_

 

“Would all agents departing on the Boston mission report to the main hangar immediately, departure is in five minutes. I repeat, departure is in five minutes. Thank you.”

 

Just as Hana pushed open the swinging doors to the hallway, she heard Mccree yell at something to ‘Slow down!’ and received a quick ‘Sorry!’, and at that, a rush of orange and blue blazed past her into the mess hall and out again in mere seconds, speeding down the hall to the hangar.

 

“Dammit Lena, you’ll kill someone like that!”

  
  
Mccree hollered at her again as she continued running. Pushing himself up and patting down his backside, he mumbled to himself, along the lines of ‘damn lightspeed lesbian’, but there was clearly love behind his words. As Hana reached him, she noticed that his signature hat was on the ground behind him, and picked it up for him, then placed it on the top of his head, catching his attention.

 

“Ah, thank’s Hana, wouldn’t’ve known what ta’ do if I couldn’ find ol’ Madeline.”

 

“No worries, wait, your hat is named Madeline?!”

  
  
“Yeah, yeah, get it all out now, I didn’t give it its name, it just stuck.”

 

Hana laughed as she walked along with Mccree, who good-heartedly smiled along with her at the funny name. Walking into the Hangar, the duo could see Genji, Angela, Reinhardt, and Lena waiting in front of the Orca transport, with Winston speaking to the four of them and Torbjörn standing next to his gorilla friend. Noticing the new arrivals Winston fully turned to them, a rare grin on his face.

 

“That’s odd, Mccree, you’re right on time! I was certain we would have to delay take off for you.”

  
  
“Yeah yeah, I’m here, and that was one time!”

  
Sticking up his metal index finger in emphasis, he good-heartedly chuckled at the grief Winston was giving him. Shaking his head side to side while chortling, Winston clapped his hands together, addressing the now entire strike team.

 

“Okay, everyone finished with last checks?”

  
  
With multiple nods of confirmation and a confident ‘yes!’ from Angela, he nodded his own head. Nodding with a brief grunt, Winston pulled out a small, flat screen and used his index finger to press a button on the side. With that, a flat blue holographic map of the mission area was generated from the screen.

 

“Alright, you all know the objective, just information collection. The trip is about five hours with total cloaking, four if the weather stays good. As for the LZ, you’ll be dropped off and picked up on this dock here.”

 

As he brought up where they would be landing, the particular dock illuminating to yellow, indicating the spot.

 

“Thankfully, the location is on the outskirts of Boston, basically on the wharf, and there isn’t much of any traffic, but that doesn’t mean you can go in gung-ho. Remember, only engage when necessary, and be as discreet as possible. _Please._ ”

 

Saying the last word silently to himself, Winston returned the device to his pocket and looked to Torbjörn, who automatically gave a thumbs up with his right hand, indicating that their transport was a-ok.

 

“Wonderful! Okay, everyone, be safe. If things so south, get out of there ASAP. When you arrive, Athena will go to autopilot and keep the ship in the clouds until you call her down. Everyone understand?”

 

With a resounding ‘Yes sir!’, Winston smiled one last time and moved off the ramp to the shuttle, giving passage to his friends.

 

“Okay, Hana and Reinhardt? Your suits are already on the ship, so just suit up when you are nearing the drop point. And please, to all of you, don’t break half of the ship this time, please?”

 

“Don’t worry, my friend! We’ll do our best, right Song?”

 

As she was walking up the ramp, Hana removed her right hand from her jacket and gave a thumbs up over her shoulder.

 

“You betcha, Winston!”

 

Heaving one last sigh, Winston looked back to the team as they loaded onto the ship. As the ramp started to fold back into the carrier, Winston and Torbjörn took a few steps away from the ship and waved the team off with, Lena waving back through the orange glass. As the ship’s turbines spun up, it started floating with a low hum, and they began to spin faster. Lifting off the open platform, the wind blew in the onlookers faces, shielding their eyes from the dust picked up in the lift-off as the ship ascended into the sky and disappeared into the clouds above Gibraltar. Turning around to re-enter the base, Winston began advancing with his front hands as Torbjörn walked next to him, and struck up a conversation as he adjusted his glasses.

 

“So Torbjörn, how is that Bastion unit faring? Is it showing any other odd qualities?”

 

“Eh, it’s definitely unique, that’s for sure. Brigitte is still running personality and diagnostic tests, and it seems passive, but we can’t be sure. Imma keep it in the holding area for now, just so if it goes berserk, it’ll be contained. Though it seems like it just wants to learn about the world around it, always looking at anything and picking things up.”

 

“Good, good. Fascinating how inquisitive it is, and that bird that follows it is quite friendly too.”

 

“Bah! That bird is nothin’ but an annoyance. Keeps making a nest on that tin can… can’t stand birds.”

 

Chuckling at the response, Winston readjusted his glasses once more. As the duo made it to an intersection of hallways, Winston gave a final parting wave to his friend as he turned right, as Torbjörn went left.

 

\---

 

An hour passed before Morgan made it to the cave entrance, but entrance is too kind of a word. Less of an opening, more of an enlarged hole in the wall, smaller than a normal doorway, and barely large enough for Morgan to fit in as she is. Running her hands over the sides of the opening, Morgan could feel the scratch marks left behind from whatever was there last.

 

_These gashes aren’t deep, barely a scratch even. Maybe a mongrel? Or a ghoul… maybe even a person?_

 

Realizing that she is getting sidetracked, Morgan shook her head, clearing her mind. Ducking below the overhang, she was relieved to see that the cavern had more vertical space than the entrance, but couldn’t tell how far in the cave goes. Squeezing in with some effort, the sound of metal grinding on rock made Morgan cringe but progressed nonetheless. Finally getting through, it was clear that what little natural light crept in wouldn’t be enough to see, so with her right hand, Morgan toggled her eye lamps, but only gained a brief flicker of light before dying out.

 

“Dammit, not again!”  
  
Raising her voice in frustration, Morgan muttered more curses as she fiddled with the wiring outside of her helmet, but with no results, she checked the radiation levels, and when deemed it safe, removed her helmet and inspected the outside. Not seeing anything wrong or broken, she mumbled engineering jargon to sift through her thoughts. With nothing coming to mind or working, she finally smacked the side of the helmet, and with a quick sputter of light, the eyes finally lit up. Shaking her head in tired frustration, Morgan slipped her helmet back on her head, finally able to see more than five feet ahead. Noticing that the cave was deeper than expected, Morgan decided that she should radio in and inform Preston. Opening the communications HUD, she tested to see if the connection was strong enough to get a call through. After a minute of waiting, Morgan heard the tell that the other side had received the signal and was connecting, and after a moment, Preston’s voice came from the other end.

 

“General, right on time. Everything alright? Was this cave actually there? Over.”

 

“Yeah, Murphy was right, there actually is a cave system, and it isn’t just a hole in the wall, something is here. It is deeper than anticipated, so I might be a while before my next check-in, but know that I’ll do so ASAP. Over.”

 

“Guess the sight is worth something even now. Understood General, be careful, over.”

 

“Don’t worry, Preston, you know I am. Over and out.”

 

Cutting the connection, Morgan peered into the dense darkness ahead of her, a feeling of unease, and dare she say dread permeating through her body. All too familiar with this feeling, she gripped her hands to stop them from shaking, memories coming back as she tried to calm herself.

 

_The first active engagement, when dad came home angry on my birthday, seeing the mushroom clouds… the vault. I’ve been through worse, I’ve been through worse, been through wor..._

 

A heavy chill ran down her spine, her method of confidence backfiring on her monumentally, as bile rose within her stomach in response to one of the two worst moments of her life. Keeping down her retch with all of her strength, she turned to hyperventilating, too many feelings and thoughts running through her head all at once. The images of that moment coming back in full, each one worse than the last.

 

The deafening shot that rang through her head for sixty years, even when she was re-frozen. The haste to open up the cryo pod, even if she knew no one would come out. The almost peaceful look on her face…

 

_I should have been the one, I should have held Shaun... She should be alive, she should be here! She, she… she wouldn’t survive. Her heart would have broken had she seen this world. It’s better this way, it’s better, better, better…_

 

Calming herself with slow and heavy breaths, Morgan finally regained her composure, despite how difficult it seemed. Shaking her thoughts with a harsh shake of her head, Morgan returned her gaze to the unknown darkness in front of her, and took her first step forward.

 

_Stay out of your head Morgan, just focus on what is in front of you, like Doctor Amari said, and stay out of your head._

 

\---

 

The journey deeper into the cave felt like it lasted eons, with her headlights short-circuiting again. Exhaling a sigh through her nostrils, Morgan looked to the internal clock in her helmet, reading 10:37, shaking her head at the ludicrously long walk. With one foot ahead of the other, Morgan kept thinking that, eventually, she’d find something, _anything_ , but had no such luck. Looking behind her shoulder back towards the entrance of the cave, but could only see the nigh-infinite darkness, not a single ray of sunlight entering the cavern. Heaving a sigh, Morgan knelt down and ran her right hand along the ground searching for something to throw. Finally touching a small rock, Morgan tossed it into the air two times before she launched it with ease. After a few seconds of silence, the sound of stone hitting metal resonated through the cave, echoing off the walls far enough for the figure at the entrance to hear it. Lifting the brim of his fedora from his brown eyes. Not hearing anything else, he placed his hat back over his eyes, and sank lower down the rock face, rubbing his right index and middle fingers over his mustache out of habit.

 

Letting out a sigh of relief, more to the fact that something is actually inside the cave, Morgan progressed further in, being met with a door made of steel. Knocking the side of her helmet with her index finger, the eye lights lit up once more. Finally being able to see in the dark, Morgan inspected the door intently, noticing a dead light bulb above the upper right-hand corner of the door. Curiously running her hands along the sides and outer parts, looking for anything to gain entrance with. Looking to the sides of the door, Morgan spotted a different material making up the very center of the top side. Placing her fingers on the material, it dawned upon her that this wasn’t like any other door she’d seen before.

 

_This is a camera lens, and with there being no keyhole or terminal, it must’ve been opened from the inside by a guard. But why haven’t I seen this type of door before, though? Wait, this isn’t one solid door, but two sides, and with the light bulb out, it can be inferred that there’s no power, so that means I’ll have to…_

 

Running her right hand down the center of the door, she found the tiny divot she was looking for. Pulling back from the door for a moment, Morgan cracked her knuckles in preparation. Finding the line down the door once more, she wedged her fingertips as far as she could, trying to get at least a little leverage over the door. With a small huff of effort, Morgan pulled her hands apart in the opposite directions, forcing the door to barely open. Gaining more space, she pushed her hands farther into the space between the doors, and realizing that her hands made it to the other side, she grasped the doors once more. Without much strain, Morgan pushed the doors farther and farther apart until, groaning from the tension building in her arms, and with a final push, her hands met the doorsill. Patting her hands off, Morgan peered into the now-opened building as she walked in, but something stood out to her, a rare factor in this new era.

 

_No corpses, not a single body… It’s like Murphy said, older than most and abandoned for longer._

 

Noticing something odd on the center of the floor, Morgan took care to not disturb the area around her too much. Kneeling down, she placed her right index, middle and ring fingers on the floor, slowly and curiously brushing away dust. Realizing that something actually is underneath the dense layer of dust, she gracefully placed her palm on the floor, and with a single swift movement, blew the dust away from the force of her action. Finally seeing what she noticed in its entirety, Morgan realized it was a logo of some sort.

 

_I don’t recognize this design, so it can’t be a public company… a branch of Vault-Tec? I wouldn’t put it past them. The v-shape might support that, but I haven’t seen them use this shade of blue, it’s too light. And what of this polygon above it? Just doesn’t add up..._

 

Standing up and patting off her hands, she surveyed the darkened room and could see seven doors around her, eight including the one she entered through. Peering upwards, Morgan could see that the ceiling has almost entirely collapsed in on the facility, with some small pieces of stone falling from the high ceiling.

 

_Okay, try not to ruin, or even mess with the structure anymore. Who knows how little it would take to make it fully fall in…_

 

Looking towards each door, she could see that all but two doors were blocked by rubble, the first door being directly across the room from the entrance, and the second being to the first door’s right side. Walking up to the first door, Morgan could tell that it couldn’t be opened through sheer force, and breaking it open is too risky with how unstable the structure is. Tapping her knuckle against the door, she noticed how there was no echo on the other side, indicating multiple doors. Moving to the other door, she could see that the door is already partially open, the right part of the twin doors open at an angle. Through the opening, Morgan could see a faint green glow. Pushing back the top part of the right side and the entirety of the left with a grunt, she braced herself against the doorframe as dust fell from the ceiling, worrying that more would follow. After a few moments of nothing, Morgan progressed into the new room.

 

Seeing rows upon rows of server racks, all of them broken down and rotten, Morgan prowled cautiously to the active monitor in the middle of the room, past about three dozen rows of racks. As she reached the monitor, Morgan could see that it was generating hundreds of lines of nonsense words, letters and numbers every second, giving off the ghostly glow. Tapping the side of the monitor, the screen glitched out for a moment before reverting to the normal monitor screen. Oddly, the machine wasn’t password protected, and had all of its data open to those who wished to view it.

 

_That isn’t normal, none of this is normal… The placement of this place, the door design, the logo, the lack of corpses, and now this! What is this place?!_

 

Shaking her head to get rid of her thoughts and calm herself, Morgan returned her attention to the monitor. As she viewed the machine, it was obvious that most, if not all of the data was corrupted and illegible, judging from the file names being mostly random letters and numbers. Opening the third file from the top, her assumption was confirmed even further. Scrolling down the file and its gibberish, she spotted a line of words that made a violent shiver run down her back, making her breath catch in her throat.

 

_‘5Doo3r02Wa24y’_

 

_Doorway…? An ancient and rotten door, like the dream, but has it opened yet? I have to know, and I have to know NOW. It, or whatever I’m looking for, has to be through that heavy door, I just know it!_

 

Turning back to the entrance of the room, it dawned upon Morgan that she had no way to get through certainly killing herself in the ensuing collapse. Placing a hand on her head in anxious contemplation, a spark to her right caught her attention. Seeing a panel of the wall had been removed, the wiring falling out. Marching to the opening, Morgan could see that the piece of the wall wasn’t ripped out or fell out, but was removed carefully years ago, evidenced by the rusty screwdriver and screws strewn about the floor. Realizing that she won’t be able to do anything in her suit, she checked her Geiger one last time to make sure that it's safe. Moving back from the wall, Morgan exited her armor with enough space to investigate the opening. Rooting around the opening, she found a dead fusion core hooked up to a jury-rigged, block-shaped power converter, with some of the wall’s wires attached to the converter. On the side of the converter are a button and two small,  dead light bulbs, signifying that the core provides no more power.

 

_Like on fusion generators, as if it was removed from one… Someone’s been here since it was abandoned, and were smart enough to somehow return power, if not momentarily… no one in this day would know how to properly do this, and only the best could so flawlessly do this kind of surgery, so it was probably a ghoul from before the bombs… thank god that they left this here, just need a fusion core!_

 

Rushing to her duffle bag, she tugged it down from the armor, desperately rummaging for the core. When she finally found one, she tugged it out with enough force that her journal was thrown out. Stopping short as she noticed her journal now on the ground, Morgan knelt down to pick it up, but noticed that her hands were shaking violently. Grasping her right hand with her left, she let the new fusion core drop to the ground as she forced herself to calm down once more.

 

_It’s too much, too much… Just plug the fusion core in and see what is on the other side of that door…  and get out of here. Blow the entrance, make sure no one ever sees this place again, and forget it was here… destroy the dossier. Just… see… see and know._

 

With another anxiety-ridden exhale, Morgan finally picked up the aged-leather journal and placed it back in her duffle bag, zipping it up slowly. Turning to the fresh fusion core lying on the ground, she extended her hand, but hesitated for a moment, fear of what may rest on the other side bubbling up once more. Forcing it down once more, she grasped the cylinder with both hands and stood up once more. Moving to the opening once more, Morgan carefully removed the dead fusion core and examined the battery. She could tell that it was rotten, corrosion having built up around both ends, with the back end having been blown out.

 

_Thank god I’m wearing gloves. Probably blew out when first inserted, too much of a burden. I’ll have to be quick..._

 

Nodding her head as she went along with her thought process, she gathered herself once more and fully grasped the new core. Bringing the front end of the cylinder to the opening end of the power converter, Morgan took one final deep breath and pushed the cylinder into the receptacle, her right hand on the back end. With a satisfying _Ka-chunk!_ as the core fit into place, the light on the upper part of the converter turned on, giving off a small blue glow. Looking around, Morgan could tell that power wasn’t restored yet, and looked back to the button and second bulb.

 

_Just like fusion generators, gotta press it._

 

Moments away from pressing the button, the room around her shook slightly, more dust falling from the ceiling, falling on her as she froze. When she realized that the ceiling hadn’t fallen on her, Morgan looked back to her suit. Standing up, she walked back to the armor and jerked the wheel, opening the suit once more. Picking up the duffle bag and making sure that it was closed and secured around her incase she needs to make a hasty exit. Bending her neck to both sides, Morgan kneeled down in front of the converter once more, grasping the block with her left hand to secure it, and placing her right thumb on the button. With one final inhale, Morgan closed her eyes, preparing to activate the converter. As if her body had moved on its own, her thumb pressed down the button without her realizing it, and was only notified of what happened when the converter started powering up, a hum echoing throughout the silent room. Opening her eyes, she watched as sparks flew from the wires, forcing Morgan to cover her eyes in response. As the converter began to work, the block began to sputter and bark, like something wasn’t connecting right or doing what it was meant to do. Moving away, the converter began to grow louder and louder, with the core and the port around it starting to glow, the room filling with booming sounds and a heat worrying emanating from the converter.

 

_Shit, the core is overloading! I have to get ou-_

 

Before Morgan could move, the converter made a deafening booming noise, the sputtering dying down and the room returning to its normal temperature. As the room around her grew quiet with the gentle sound of power coursing through it, Morgan stood up and looked around the room, anticipating something, _anything_ to happen. Heaving a gasp of relief, Morgan placed her left hand on her chest to calm herself, breathing steadily. Taking a step to the door, she was thrown to the ground with a violent tremor, as the sounds of explosions shook the facility. Trying to get back onto her feet, the ceiling began falling around her, crushing the server racks and opening holes in the floor, revealing great cavernous halls beneath her feet.

 

Making a wild dash to the door, a large piece of rubble fell in front of it vertically, cracks already covering the stone.

 

_It’s weak!_

 

Directing her left arm in front of her torso, Morgan threw her entire weight into her shoulder and burst through the rubble into the main room, to see that all the blocked doors, save the exit, was engulfed in flames, fires raging everywhere.

 

_Dammit, the generators must have been kept on the lower levels, and they couldn’t handle the strain of the power!? Shit, I have to get out, now!_

 

Hastily moving to the exit, Morgan looked behind her when she heard a slow groan of metal moving, to see the heavily enforced doors opening slowly, revealing that the fires hadn’t spread to that part of the facility. Looking towards the entrance to the new section, Morgan looked down to her feet, the chaos and destruction around her fading away, only the sound of her breathing and heartbeat reaching her ears. Bullets of sweat were falling from her brow, and as Morgan looked to the exit, she peered into the darkness, her outline imposed onto the ground from the flames, the void making her stomach churn.

 

_I’ll never know. I’ll never know but I’ll be safe… safe, alive, able to see Shaun again… But I’ll never know._

 

Looking back to the other side, Morgan could see a faint light from the very end of the hallway, small enough so that it looks like a lightbulb, but an eerie blue. As if she was gently pushed, Morgan took a single step forward, then another, and another until she was full-on sprinting towards the light. As she passed the threshold of the door into the corridor, another explosion shook the facility, but Morgan still heard nothing, just the thundering of her heart as her boundless curiosity got the better of her, a sea of excitement and anticipation being released within her heart, and not a single drop of fear or doubt within it. Morgan felt something she has only felt on the rarest of occasions, the fleeting high that she chases without even realizing it: a sense of adventure.

 

_I’ll know, I’ll know! I’ll know what it means, then I’ll figure out what to do next! Like always! Get to the next point and figure out what comes next!_

 

As Morgan slid into the room from where the light was originating, it was clear that the room was almost completely untouched, save for some burns on the far back wall. On both side walls were windows, the glass stained and dirtied with age, but undamaged. At the far end of the room is a screen, a yellow number two the only thing being displayed. In the very center of the room stands two white metal constructs, both about seven feet tall and six feet apart, with a shimmering, hauntingly blue screen. The fact that the facility is crumbling around her the farthest thing from her mind at the moment  

 

_What is this? These themes don’t reflect Vault-Tec. Too much white, but this contraption, this definitely isn’t their tech… what is this thing?_

 

Taking a step towards the screen, Morgan extended her right hand towards it, her hand just barely connecting, and it felt like the particles coming off of the screen were pulling her towards it.

 

Before she could get any closer, another explosion shook the facility, bringing Morgan back into reality, as rubble began falling from the ceiling again.

 

_I have to go, now!_

 

Moving to the door, the corridor exploded in flames, causing Morgan to move back in fear, the primal fear of fire igniting in her being. Moving back even further, Morgan did not realize that her back was essentially touching the screen. Realizing that she was up against a metaphorical, and literal, wall, Morgan turned her head to look at the screen once more, when it dawned upon her.

 

_This isn’t a solid screen… it isn’t a screen at all! It’s my way out!_

 

Turning herself around so that her front faces the portal, she backed up a few meters, and with a running start, lunged through the screen, entering on one side, but didn’t come out the other. As fire and debris filled the room, the screen on the far wall changed in response to Morgan’s action, changing from a two, to a one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please be so kind as to leave a kudos, and if you are so inclined, a comment! All critiques are appreciated and considered!


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